


transfigure me

by windflicker



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, Study Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windflicker/pseuds/windflicker
Summary: Akira’s doing next to nothing at all, and yet it’s hard not to watch him, as if he’s wielding all the magnetism he has on the Quidditch field at this quiet table in the stacks.





	transfigure me

**Author's Note:**

> shout-out and huge thanks to [birdy](https://twitter.com/songbrd_) over on twitter for talking about this wonderful AU with me! please go check out her amazing art.

This time, it’s Akira who finds him—holed up in the library and poring over his Potions notes, parchment already halfway covered in the essay Professor Takemi had thrust upon them earlier in the week. Takemi has a reputation, Goro’s heard, but he puts it down to appearances, to the aura that suggests she could hex someone with a single whisk of her blackened nails. Appearances, which, he knows, can be oh so deceiving.

He’s expounding on the properties of the bezoar and the ethics of its harvesting when he hears footsteps, and his current study in deceptive appearances approaches his table, crooked smile on his face.

“Hey,” Akira says, and there’s a thunk as he drops his bag on the ground. “If it isn’t my favorite sixth year.”

“Oh, hello, Akira.” He looks up and smiles his most courteous smile. Despite how Akira wears his robes properly, which Goro has always found ironic, green tie fastened high around his collar, he looks windswept, as well as somewhat winded. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Dying over N.E.W.T.s, are we?” Akira winces in sympathy, eyes skimming over Goro’s parchment.

“Oh, no, they’re not half so bad this year.” Goro shakes his head, a tired smile rising to his lips. “This is only Potions, and Professor Takemi has always been fair.” He frowns down at the page. “The real challenge, I think, will be History of Magic, since the curriculum this year has been frankly—”

He cuts himself off. A fifth year, especially this fifth year, does not need to hear about his academic woes, which are neither charming nor interesting. He pastes a friendly smile on his face instead. “I’m sorry, I’m getting lost in my thoughts. How are you?”

“Tired. Exhausted. Quidditch practice takes a lot out of you. And now I have to _study_.” Akira smirks, rolling his eyes. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

He drops into the chair across from Goro, letting out a loud sigh, and folds his arms behind his head, leaning back. Goro doesn’t register the lean curve of his posture, doesn’t take any notice of the lines of his neck before Akira slides back upright, a sly look peeking out from under his eyelashes.

“Hey. Did you see me at the match on Saturday?”

How could he have missed it. Akira sweeping through the air like he was born to it, ducking and rolling in what seemed a hundred directions at once, cloak flaring behind him, tails snapping in the wind like the wings of a whole flock of birds scattering through the sky. How could someone so unassuming, who slouched his way around the grounds like the worst kind of truant, who hardly even spoke when it wasn’t to smart-mouth people who were too dumb to realize he was smart-mouthing them—how could he fly with such inhuman grace?

“Um, Goro,” Ann had piped up from next to him, eyes wide and uncannily knowing, “are you okay?”

Befriending Ann had been a mistake, Goro decided, slowly unclenching his hand, which had somehow curled into a fist. He turned and smiled at her.

“The aerodynamics of Quidditch are fascinating, aren’t they?” he had said serenely, and promptly resumed his cheering.

Merlin, he hated this. _Hates_ this, what with Akira still staring him down with that crooked hint of a smirk, because he doesn’t even need to grin to radiate smugness, as if he knows exactly why Goro had gone quiet that day in the stands.

But he doesn’t. And fortunately, Goro has no obligation to enlighten him.

“If you’re here to fish for compliments, I’m going back to my essay and ignoring you completely,” he says, picking up his quill again.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Akira settles into his chair sideways and slides it around the corner of the table so that he’s nearly next to Goro. It groans as it lurches across the floor. “It was a tight match. Gryffindor did well. You would have won if it weren’t for…”

“For you, yes, thank you for the humble reminder. What was the line”—Goro holds a finger to his chin, recalling the commentator’s bombastic words—“‘Kurusu’s such a brilliant Seeker it’s like he has a third eye’? Yes, that’s the one.”

“Oh, please, I’m blushing,” Akira drawls, and Goro rolls his eyes.

“I’m so happy for you. But if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

To his credit, Akira actually simmers down. He reorients himself until he’s sitting properly on his chair, pulls his books and parchment out of his bag, and drops them one by one on the table in a haphazard pile. He flashes a grin. “Hope you don’t mind if I work with you, then.”

“If you’re capable,” Goro answers, eyeing the disarray that’s already building on the table.

“I’ll be on my best behavior, promise. Just for you, prefect.”

Akira studies leaning his head on one arm, elbow propped on the table, fingers splayed through his hair. Goro tries not to watch him, to look at Akira flicking his quill against his chin as he thinks, tickling the feathered part against his lips, Akira tapping his foot and tugging at his fringe. It must be the mark of an athlete, he thinks, that he can’t stop _moving_. Akira’s doing next to nothing at all, and yet it’s hard not to watch him, as if he’s wielding all the magnetism he has on the Quidditch field at this quiet table in the stacks, and Goro finds it ridiculous.

It must be because he’s made a habit out of watching Akira, he reasons. Headmaster Yoshida had asked him to find the culprit, the phantom mischief-maker behind the recent pranks springing up around the grounds—the vanishing of goblets and dragon’s eggs and all manner of treasures, not to mention the strange messages that had shown up on certain students’ and teachers’ seats and desks and bedsides, threatening them with insider knowledge of wrongs they had committed—and who could make a better suspect than the new transfer student with a shady past?

“Uh, Akechi?”

Goro blinks. “Yes?”

“What are you looking at me for?”

“Looking—” Goro stares at him. “At you? What are you talking about?”

“You were. Looking right at me. Just now.”

Akira’s doing his non-smirk, the expression coiled beneath his eyes like something lurking just beneath the surface of a still gray pool. Goro replays the last few minutes in his mind. He was working on his essay, or no, he was thinking about it, figuring out how to begin the next paragraph…or was he?

He shoots Akira an innocent smile. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to stare. I was simply lost in thought, and I must have been looking in your direction.”

“Uh-huh.” The smirk ripples into the open. “Sure.”

Goro doesn’t deign to reply. Instead, he smiles diplomatically and peers at the parchment laid out in front of Akira, shifting the topic in his own favor.

“What are you working on, if I may ask?”

“Me?” Akira’s back to flicking the quill against his chin, and he grimaces as he glances down. Goro can see his messy scrawls of handwriting lining the page. “Oh. History of Magic essay. Not very fun stuff, I promise you that.”

“Not at all. May I ask what the topic is about?” He clasps his hands and leans forward, all friendly attentiveness. “Prefect’s curiosity, if you will. Besides, it is my duty to help any students who might be struggling academically, after all.”

“Of course it is,” Akira says dryly, and Goro’s glad to hear the note of irritation in _his_ voice now. Serves him right. “Well, why not. It’s on the history of Aurors. I have to put together an analysis of the department’s position and accomplishments within the Ministry.”

“And what might your analysis be?”

“Well, I…” Akira pauses, and his lips tighten at the corners. “To be honest, I’m not thrilled about it.” He drums his quill against the page and looks up at Goro, one side of his mouth twisting upward. “I can’t help but feel that the entire system is corrupt, you know?”

 _Of course_ , Goro thinks, and he bites back a laugh.

“Well,” he answers aloud, voice thoughtful and steady, “the system is broken, no doubt. But the only way we can change the system is from within it, is it not? The Ministry, the law, all of these structures that hold our society intact—we can complain about them all we want, we can loathe them for their corruption. But at the end of the day, how can we even hope to begin to topple them without first attaining the power they wield?”

“From within, huh?” Akira tilts his head, a wry look narrowing his sharp features. “So you’re one of them. How cynical. What was that quote again, about ‘he who fights monsters’?”

“‘He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster’?” Goro chuckles. “How impressive of you to quote Nietzsche.”

Akira shrugs. “My parents taught me a thing or two over the summer. Muggle knowledge, you know. Comes in handy sometimes.”

“Indeed,” Goro agrees. “But, well, to address what you say: I believe that sometimes, there’s no other way but to cast in one’s lot with the monsters, if the monsters are the only ones who hold the ability to defeat a greater evil.” He pauses, the words lingering strong and acrid in his throat. “And moreover, I must say that I believe that some things are worth the risk.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Akira’s studying him thoughtfully, the words slow, a knowing look in his eyes. “Didn’t you say you wanted to be an Auror?”

 _Ah, yes_. Goro could recall the exchange, of their earlier ones, back when he had spilled much of his story to Akira unprompted. Making introductions, being friendly, he had thought. Somehow Akira always got him to run his mouth around him simply by standing there.

He laughs politely. “Well, I’m flattered that you remember my ambitions. And yes, it’s true. I apologize for my tangent,” he adds, “I don’t mean to push my own personal bias on you.”

“No, no. Please. I’m into it.” Akira shakes his head eagerly. “Really. You’re more fun when you’re like this, you know.”

“Pardon?” Goro should be focusing, returning to his essay by now, but he can’t help himself. Akira always has a habit of saying the most curious things. “Like what?”

“Hmm, like.” Akira pauses, thinking. “You’re more fun when you have some bite to you,” he concludes, grinning.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Like, I love it when you insult me,” he drawls, and he actually has the audacity to _wink_. “And I do love when we debate. It’s pretty sexy. Oh,” he adds, as Goro’s mind tries not to stumble over that word, “and you’re a great dueling partner, too. Better than Makoto, honestly, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“That’s nice of you,” Goro concedes, though really, he’s trying not to grin, imagining the look on Miss Goody Two Shoes Prefect’s face if she ever heard that one. Not that he would ever let Akira see how pleased it makes him. He and Makoto simply share a healthy rivalry.

“Don’t get me wrong. Makoto’s a great partner. But she can get kind of hung up over the details, over doing everything right. You’re…” Akira tips his head to the side, thinking. “Not afraid to,” he says after a moment, slow and deliberate, “really get into it.”

Goro nearly chokes.

It’s not just Akira’s ability to make every sentence that comes out of his mouth sound vaguely suggestive, which Goro will admit is…unnerving, to say the least. Especially when he’s staring directly into Goro’s eyes the way he is now, head cocked and those peculiar-shaped gray eyes innocuous and penetrating all at once.

It’s the fact that he suddenly feels like there’s a spotlight shining down on him, and not in the way he’s accustomed to, not in the way he invites. One that shines into the crevices between the frames, slipping its way through the cracked portrait.

“I don’t know quite what you mean,” he manages in a neutral tone, throwing in a chuckle for good measure.

“Really? Huh.” Akira twirls his quill in his hands, and that’s distracting, too. “You’re very…enthusiastic, I guess. I mean, it makes you fun to duel with. Like we’re in some kind of…” He chuckles. “Fantasy RPG, or something.”

Until moments like this, Goro always finds it easy to forget that Akira comes from a Muggle household. He’s in Slytherin, after all, and considering the history of the House…it’s unusual, to say the least. He wonders, briefly, how the other Slytherins treat him, if they ever view him as an outsider. If that’s why Akira’s so quiet around everyone else.

It isn’t like his Muggle-born status, or even his delinquent status, has stopped Akira from having everything else, he reminds himself. Slytherin Seeker, star of the team and the House, surrounded by friends of all Houses. A place in Hogsmeade, even, with the owner of that tavern that serves the most delicious butterbeer around; Goro remembers always seeing him and that tiny Slytherin girl, the Arithmancy genius, there on school trips. Akira’s never alone, he thinks bitterly, never chained by other people’s expectations.

Meanwhile, Goro contemplates his answer, weighing its ramifications. He could pretend not to know what a fantasy RPG is, but that would be a lie. The knowledge simply comes from a time in his life he would rather forget.

“Well, that sounds rather childish,” he chuckles, looking back down at his parchment.

And thinks back to their last duel, to the finishing blow he had dealt, swinging his wand high and mighty through the air like a sword, shouting a spell and watching it arc ever so gracefully across the room. Pressing the tip of his wand up to Akira’s chin after the finishing blow, pushing ever so slightly and watching the scales tip.

Perhaps there _is_ something rather childhood hero about it all…something like the days when there had been a pair of soft hands to help him navigate his old, secondhand console, to show him how to defeat all the virtual bosses and tyrants if she couldn’t show him how to wield his magic…

“Nothing wrong with that,” Akira says, and his gaze is intent on him, as if he’s probing Goro’s face with his eyes, and a sudden spike of anger lances through him. He hates this, hates that this pointless exchange has somehow dredged up those memories, hates that Akira’s still peering at his face with those eyes, still peering at him like he gets it, like he’s _so_ understanding and helpful, the infuriating, patronizing way he must talk to everyone.

But Akira doesn’t look away. His expression hovers somewhere between amused and concerned and, Goro admits despite himself, not unkind.

“And it’s a little…different from how you normally are.”

“And how is that, exactly?”

“Whoa, I mean no offense.” Akira holds up his hands. “You’re just, you know. Very…prefect. Doing everything right, all perfect and...well, pleasant. A golden boy. That sort of thing.” He smiles. “It’s a compliment, dude.”

 _Smile_. Goro rearranges his face. “Well, thank you. It’s...nothing, really. I’m simply doing my best with the talents I have.”

“Aren’t we all,” Akira chuckles, and pulls his leg up onto his chair, draping an arm over his knee, “aren’t we all.”

Akira’s words are loaded, he knows. He remembers the whispers around Hogwarts during the first few weeks—months, even—after Akira had arrived, the way the other students had avoided him in the corridors and refused to partner with him in class. An out-of-place Muggle-born to his fellow Slytherins, and one of _those_ Slytherins to the others, despite how far inter-House relations had progressed.

Perhaps, he entertains, the Headmaster’s request wasn’t the only reason he had been so eager to speak to Akira. Call it curiosity, if you must.

Nevertheless, Akira smiles at Goro now, and the expression reads softer than most of his smirks. Despite himself, the anger vibrating in Goro’s veins stills, if only for a moment. “But I don’t mean to say that I don’t like how you normally are. Pleasant Boy’s nice, too. Both. Both are good.”

 _Pleasant Boy..._ He could snort. The half-blood bastard prince of Gryffindor, reduced to _Pleasant Boy_. Akira really doesn’t know a thing about him.

“I like all of you,” Akira goes on, his gaze steady and clear, a challenge, the offense maneuver of throwing away all reservations. “I like spending time with you, Akechi.”

Akira’s voice comes so easy and genuine, his smile so relaxed and unconscious, and Goro knows he shouldn’t trust it, that he should trust Akira about as much as he would trust himself, which is to say, not as far as the end of his wand. Two deceptive appearances, the both of them are, wandering around campus wielding the badges of their respective roles, as if life is an RPG indeed, or a fantasy novel, and they’ve drawn their respective straws, settled on their respective sides of the battlefield.

Yet here they sit, directly next to each other, barely the corner of a table between them. Goro could reach out and touch him, if he wanted.

“As do I. You’re always an interesting one, aren’t you?” And maybe the words that come out don’t feel completely like a lie, nor the smile that curves his mouth as he sets down his quill, facing Akira head-on. The battlefield between them stretches wide and thin all at once, a solid line that blurs and vanishes. “I look forward to dueling with you again.”

Maybe, he thinks, somehow, they can have both.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! you can find me and my perpetual akeshu agenda over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/justihce) and[ tumblr](https://justicefool.tumblr.com).


End file.
